


For the World is Hollow

by spaceconspiracy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - High School, Dorky Spock, F/M, M/M, Punk Jim, Social Issues, beware the racism and homophobia that was still alive at that time, but i gave up sorry :/, there was supposed to be more it was supposed to be longer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceconspiracy/pseuds/spaceconspiracy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock Grayson meets Jim, there’s eye make-up running down his left cheekbone and a bruise on his jaw, and he’s dressed in a scoffed-up leather jacket; his hair is a wild mess, like it wants to lay flat against his head but James won’t let it, and is dyed the most alarming shade of green. His wrists are adorned with leather straps and shoelaces, and to be quite honest, Spock doesn’t understand the purpose of them at all.</p><p>James Kirk is entirely illogical.</p><p>(Aka that AU that started as Punk!Jim/Dorky!Spock and warped into this mess.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1975

**Author's Note:**

> Casually nicknamed 70s AU. I have a shitton written but it's still WIP so I'm just gonna kinda sit back and see where this goes ayo. Un-Beta'd etc. Thanks to Tory who loves 70s AU more than I do.

 

James Kirk is entirely illogical.

 

When Spock Grayson meets him, there’s eye make-up running down his left cheekbone and a bruise on his jaw, and he’s dressed in a scoffed-up leather jacket and what Spock believes are called bondage pants. His hair is a wild mess, like it wants to lay flat against his head but James won’t let it, and is dyed the most alarming shade of green. His wrists are adorned with leather straps and shoelaces, and to be quite honest, Spock doesn’t understand the purpose of them at all.

 

“James,” he address, clearing his throat and adjusting the wide-brimmed glasses on his face. He doesn’t know much about Jim, outside of a name and a failing grade in Mr. Pike’s math class, and since (according to Pike) somebody as smart as Spock is James’ only saving grace, they’re meeting up outside of the school at an hour far earlier than Spock thinks somebody like Jim is used to.

 

“Jim,” James breathes in exasperation, like he’s tired of telling people the same thing over and over. “Here’s the skinny - I don’t need a tutor, and the only reason I agreed to this was to get Pike off my ass.” He fixes Spock with those irrationally bright blue eyes that are a striking contrast against the dark color of his jacket.

 

Spock frowns, more out of pure bewilderment then anything else. “Jim -” he tries the name out, and finds it fits Kirk’s face better than James ever could. “I misunderstand, if you do not require a tutor, then why has Mr. Pike requested me to assist you in your studies? Surely you have a failing grade, and by extension -”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Jim mutters, rubbing his face with his hand and smearing his eyeliner further until it’s no different than the bruise he's not trying to hide. He pushes past Spock and climbs up the steps to the front entrance of the school, and Spock doesn’t understand a thing, but he adjusts his sweater and tugs on his suspenders and follows Jim anyway.

 

~X~

 

James Kirk is a walking contradiction.

 

He’s made of spikes and rough edges, of hair and eyes that are out of control and a sense of style that sets Spock’s teeth on edge, but when he bends over a math textbook and furrows his brow deep in concentration he’s all silent thought and soft tones. Spock finds within the first few days that Jim is no less of a genius then Aristotle or Einstein, and he navigates through math formulas like it’s his first language.

 

In fact, Spock questions Jim on this, inquires as to why he insists on barely passing and not even attending school on a regular basis when he has the greatest mind out of anybody Spock has ever come into contact with, and could do so much with it. All Jim tells him that he thinks the school system is jacked up (Spock doesn’t quite understand the terminology, and resolves to educate himself better on popular slang so he can communicate with Jim efficiently).

  
  


“I’m not going to give in to their tests and their dumb grades,” Jim says with his boots propped up on the desk and a Laffy Taffy hanging out of his mouth. “Rules and regulation, it’s all bullshit.”

 

“I beg to differ with your ideas,” Spock says, closing his Calculus textbook carefully; he doesn’t believe they’ll be discussing math any time in the foreseeable future. “Without a specific agenda of regulation there would be chaos.”

 

“The only chaos is oppression.” Jim drops his feet off the desk and rests his elbows on his knees, chewing on the Laffy Taffy thoughtfully for a moment before saying, leaning forward, “Imagine it, Spock, where chicks and us could be equal, and where the black man down the road doesn’t have to be worried about getting shot just for stepping into a white man’s view, and where people can love whoever they want without prosecution.” Something flashes deep in Jim’s eyes at the last sentence and he leans a little closer. “Why should I worry about getting a degree for a job that’s doing nothing about any of this?”

 

Spock doesn’t answer because the idea of turning his thoughts over to those kinds of subjects terrifies him.

 

~X~

 

Jim Kirk is so willing to open up.

 

It’s startlingly, really, but Spock listens because he enjoys the way Jim weaves his passions into his words. He would make an excellent politician, Spock thinks, and his personal anecdotes are enough to turn anybody over to his side. He tells Spock about how cigarettes and alcohol are self-destructive, how they’re being fed to the public to oppress (Jim’s favourite word, Spock has come to learn in the past few weeks) any ideas an individual may have.

 

“I wanna take you to a concert,” Jim says while Spock idly outlines an English paper due the next morning. “You would love it.”

 

“It is illogical to assume I would form an emotional bond to a specific event that does not affect me in any way outside of that one occurrence,” Spock responds, pushing his glasses up his nose and scratching beneath the wrist of his sweater.

 

Jim just rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his Laffy Taffy. His hair is pink today - something about gender roles, he said when Spock commented on the choice. “It’d be life changing; of course you’ll form an emotional bond.” He takes the pencil out of Spock’s hand without preamble and jots down something in his chicken scratch handwriting. “It’s tomorrow -” he pushes the slip of paper towards Spock. “Call it a field trip.”

 

Spock wants to question Jim’s motives, but then he’s smiling and Spock spends the rest of the evening try to figure out why he can’t breathe.

 

~X~

 

“You’re going out with a friend?” Spock’s mother, Amanda, inquires, her eyes bright, her hair piled atop her head in a sloppy bun, and Spock thinks it is a nice symbolism of her personality.

 

“His name is James Kirk,” he supplies. “It is - a social event in which there will be adult supervision.” He reflects on what Jim said about a field trip. “It is in relation to what I am tutoring him with.”

 

“Oh, very well,” Amanda says, her smile real this time, and she pats Spock’s cheek and smoothes his hair. “Don’t stay out too late, alright, dear?”

 

Sarek is not home tonight, a fact for which Spock is very grateful - he could not lie to his father, and would undoubtedly be detained at home for the remainder of the month. He would be unable to tutor Jim, and if anybody asked him, he would inform that it was because he did not want to disappoint Mr. Pike, but the truth is something else entirely.

 

When Jim comes to pick him up, driving a clunky motorbike with large handles and wearing no helmet, he laughs at Spock and reaches over to pull the glasses off his face. “Spock, you can’t show up to this thing looking like a goon, they’ll kick us out.”

“Jim, I cannot see.”

 

Jim laughs so hard he nearly falls over, but eventually he gives Spock his glasses back. He gives him a once over that makes Spock’s skin crawl for reasons unknown, and then licks his palm, reaching towards Spock, who recoils in response.  Jim lets out another one of those hearty laughs that makes Spock’s fingers go numb. “Come on, let me just -” he sticks his tongue into the corner of his mouth in concentration, looking for all the world like Spock is a math problem he just can’t solve, and pushes his bangs back from his forehead.  “Wear this,” Jim instructs, shedding his leather jacket and sliding it onto Spock’s shoulders.

 

It weighs on Spock, who is not accustomed to the heavy materiel, nor the jangle of the multitude of buttons pinned to the front. “Jim,” he grits his teeth, but the other boy just laughs again and climbs back on his motorcycle.

 

“Come on, Spock, you look great.”

 

Spock does not think about Jim’s waist under his hands or the feel of the wind caressing them like a concerned mother while Spock lets Jim take him wherever Jim would like to go.

 

~X~

 

The concert is not a concert at all, but a small gathering in a basement full of people like Jim, all with multi-colored hair and face piercings, and Spock self consciously adjusts the glasses on his face. There’s a makeshift stage made of cardboard boxes at the front of the room, where a young man is sitting with a guitar slung around his neck and his hands clasped as if in prayer. Spock is wondering what it is the young man is praying for, if he is at all, when Jim steers him towards the opposite end of the basement, nearly shoving him into another boy, no older than sixteen, with bright curls and equally bright eyes. He looks up in surprise from staring into his red plastic cup and takes a step back, sizing the two of them up. He, too, wears glasses, though of a slightly smaller frame, and Spock is eased at the sight of his natural hair color and lack of facial piercings (however, there is a curious tattoo of a bird above his wrist that Spock elects not to study further.)

 

“Pasha!” Jim says, all smiles, hands still on Spock’s shoulders. “Where’s Bones?”

 

The young man - Pasha (what an odd name) - raises an eyebrow. When he speaks, Spock leans back into Jim subconsciously; he did not expect the young man to be Russian, and there’s years of Red Scare and Soviet Union prejudgment woven into him. Jim, however, is completely unfazed and Spock attempts to quell his initial shock and fright. “He iz running a bit late,” he peers back into his cup. “He had to deal vith Jocelyn.”

 

Spock glances over his shoulder and Jim’s mouth is set in a firm line, like he understands the vagueness of Pasha’s words. “I want you to meet Spock,” he says suddenly, loud enough to draw the attention of a few people nearby, and Spock can’t help but look away. “He tutors math and wears big glasses and I’m slowly teaching him the ways of punk rock.” Jim says the last bit a little too proudly, and Spock resists the illogical urge to roll his eyes. “Spock, meet Pasha.”

 

“Pavel,” the Russian corrects, but he doesn’t seem too serious about it and gives Spock a genuine smile. “Wery nice to meet you.”

 

Spock opens his mouth to return the favor, but Jim’s already tugging him away and murmuring about the show starting. “It’s all about the performance, not the music itself, so you have to pay attention, okay,” Jim blathers on, flopping down in a beanbag chair that’s falling apart and pulling Spock down with him, who makes a noise of discomfort at the jerky action.

 

They're pressed too close, and Spock can feel Jim all down his body, a presence that sends waves of heat cascading over him and he wants to know if Jim can feel it to.

 

The people that take the stage are wearing enough make up to resemble clowns, their hair done in alarmingly tall spikes and their clothes tattered, like they tried to make it look like it's falling apart on purpose.

 

Jim cheers the loudest of them all, all whoops and "Yeah!"s and he throws an arm around Spock’s shoulders and tugs him illogically close. "That's Sulu, and over there is Scotty, and Nyota is the one singing," Jim points to each person accordingly and then turns his grin to Spock. "She hates me but she's really wicked." Jim uses the phrase in a praising manner - another one of his slang terms that Spock has trouble keeping up with.

 

When the music starts, Jim throws his entire concentration into it, leaning forward as if to get closer, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression. The music is screechy and loud, and while Nyota’s voice is very pleasant it does not all couple well with the harsh guitar sounds and heavy drumming surrounding her. Spock’s never heard music like this in his life, barely desires to even call it as much, but Jim closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, like he's inhaling the sound, and it's fascinating.

 

When the song ends, there’s a collective clapping and cheering, and Spock claps his own hands just to be polite; Jim is whooping again and looking to Spock with pure glee turning his eyes as bright as the stars. “So, Spock, you dig it right?” he looks so hopeful and excited about the prospect he can barely contain himself. “I mean wow, the way Nyota sings and just throws herself into it - I told you, it’s all about the performance.”

 

“Nyota’s voice was - rather fascinating, yes,” Spock agrees, much to Jim’s pleasure. Jim looks ready to talk about it forever but with one glance over Spock’s shoulder, he’s on his feet and bringing Spock along with him.

 

“Bones!” Jim’s calling out, referring, no doubt, to the person he had discussed earlier with Pavel.

 

Spock is very surprised to see the man named Bones is significantly older than Jim himself, at least ten years, with shadowed eyes and layers of tattoos upon his arms. He rolls his eyes at Jim’s exuberance, crossing his arms; Pavel is already standing by his side, and they lean towards each other in a familiar way.

 

“Is this the infamous Spock?” Bones asks with a slight accent underlying his words, gaze flickering over to Spock and taking him in with no visible acceptance or rejection. He raises an eyebrow deftly and turns back to Jim, “Did you invite him to that drive-in thing?”

 

Jim opens his mouth, but Spock beats him to the punch. “I was not informed of such, no.” He looks at Jim expectantly.

 

Jim rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed and it’s . . . endearing. “I was getting around to it, jeez,” he grabs Spock’s hand - Jim touches him an awful lot - and leads them behind Bones up the stairs. Spock doesn’t know whose house they occupy; perhaps one of the band members, but it’s nice, albeit very sparse.

 

Bones doesn’t argue and gives Spock a knowing look as Jim tugs him along; before they’re out of view, Spock sees Pavel and Bones exceptionally close, voices low and whispering, and when Bones grins and kisses Pavel’s forehead, Spock lets out a startled, “Oh!” without really meaning to at all.

 

Jim looks behind him, stalling their climb up the stairs. “You alright?”

 

Spock quickly tries to cover his shock and discomfort and gives Jim a reassuring nod, who grins that brilliant grin and leads him the rest of the way.

 

~X~

 

"Jim," Spock begins while they sit outside on an open porch. He doesn't particularly desire to ask the question on the tip of his tongue - he's afraid it'll come across as exceedingly rude but the curiosity is eating him alive and the confusion even more so. Jim looks up at him twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He's expressed on multiple occasions to Spock that he despises the things, that they oppress, but, Jim says, sometimes oppressions good when there are things you don't want to think about. He didn't elaborate further on that, and Spock didn't ask.

 

"Are Pavel and . . . Bones," he says the name uncertainly. "In a relationship?"

 

Jim grins, "Six months and counting, those committed bastards."

 

Spock nods, mouth set in a firm line. He shifts uneasily and thinks through his next words carefully, not wishing to offend Jim. "They are . . ." He starts, but hesitates on the word.

 

Jim finishes for him, raising an eyebrow. "Queer? Yeah," Jim shrugs. "Sometimes I forget our fucked up society oppresses any ideas that aren't theirs and I guess love is one of them." His lip curls. "It's not like it's a damn choice but even if it was, why give a shit." His voice is getting heated, and Spock regrets bringing it up at all, but Jim inhales steadily and fixes that grin on his face again. "Sorry, I always get so worked up when I think about how Pasha can't walk down the street without getting beaten up or how even Scotty and Nyota have to be careful because he's white and she's not," he shakes his head. "I just get so pissed."

 

"I’m sorry," he says when Spock doesn't reply. "I know you aren't used to it and all."

 

"There is no need to apologise," Spock says, shifting his glasses. "I find it rather . . Nice that they have found a place where they can be openly affectionate without fear of prosecution." He purses his mouth. "Although there is a significant age difference."

 

Jim laughs so hard he falls over and Spock feels illogically elated at the fact that, as Jim tugs his unlit cigarette into his jeans, he has prevented Jim from harming himself.

  
  
  


~X~

 

Spock realises that Jim’s elite group is different. They are diverse, but welcoming in every aspect, and even though Spock has deep-seated conservative views ingrained into him, they don’t even blink when he shifts uncomfortably every time Jim goes on his anarchy tangents or Pavel and Leonard (Spock learns soon enough that the only one who calls him Bones is Jim) duck their heads together and whisper, or every time Nyota and Scotty kiss in public and ignore the murmurs and frowns around them.

 

They're all inspiring, Spock thinks, as they break social norms and flaunt themselves without a care, because they are human and have every right to.

 

It's strangely beautiful.

 

It makes Spock think.

 

He was never raised religious-  his father always found it illogical - but he listens to Jim demonstrate with his hands about the cosmos, about how vast and brilliant the universe is, and how there’s so much we don't know. "They just discovered black holes, Spock!" Jim tells him with his eyes bright and his hair wet from his morning shower, empty of colour for once and hanging in his eyes. The curve of his right ear is red from a fresh piercing, and Spock glances at it often in concern.

 

"Just now, Hawking did - wow that man is a genius - but do you get it, there’s these points in space that are capable of destroying even light," he looks thoroughly amazed by the prospect and leans towards Spock. "There has to be some - some greater power orchestrating all this."

 

Spock chews thoughtfully on the breakfast that Jim brought him - it's from the diner that Nyota works at while she works to get into a college that'll accept a woman of colour, and although it’s too greasy for Spock’s tastes, he eats it anyway. "Fascinating."

 

Jim chuckles and throws an arm around Spock’s shoulders. "Can I tell you a secret?"

 

"Of course, Jim," Spock looks at him steadily. "You can trust me with any information you feel inclined to share."

 

Jim looks at the sky with a clouded expression. "I wanna join NASA. I know, I know, it's government run and that's bullshit, and its all the way across the country, and the chance  of even being accepted is totally low, but -" he hesitates and meets Spock’s eyes. "There's nothing I want more." He's silent for a long moment. "Don’t you dare tell Bones."

 

Spock looks away and feigns interest with the zippers of his backpack. He’s thoroughly unsettled by the idea of Jim fleeing to Florida, but simultaneously wants to support Jim's dream, and there is a tumultuous feeling in his stomach. "The likelihood of your being employed into NASA is not as low as you may think," he says finally, breaching the silence. "You excel at math and science and show a strong passion for the subjects of astronomy and astrophysics." He takes a breath. "It would be illogical to reject a mind such as yours, especially during the peak of space exploration."

 

When Spock feels like he can look at Jim without throwing up, he sees that Jim’s eyes are shining and he's looking at Spock with an expression Spock can't identity. When Jim speaks, his voice is thin, although he doesn't say what Spock was expecting. "That drive in thing is tonight, they're showing The Exorcist," he swallows. "I’m still picking you up right?"

 

Spock’s brow furrows in confusion - he's unsure as to how The Exorcist relates to NASA at all - but he nods slowly. "Yes, my plans have remained unchanged."

 

"Good, great," Jim says, mouth presses tight as he stands. "I'll see you then."

 

As he walks away, Spock thinks Jim is an enigma he's never going to solve.

 

~X~

 

When Jim arrives at Spock’s place, he's driving a cherry red mustang with a convertible hood and his hair lies suspiciously flat. He's not wearing his usual leather jacket though there's still a thin layer of liner around his eyes. Even so the change in his appearance makes Spock wonder, and he stands in his doorway longer than he intends to.

 

Amanda has seen Jim before of course, kept her startled expression under control, but Sarek never has and when he looks up he calls to Spock to let Jim in the house. Panic clutches at Spock’s throat but he pushes it away and steps aside.

 

Jim walks in like he does every other room - as if he owns the place.

 

"Mr. Grayson," Jim gives a genuinely warm smile, extending a hand as Sarek walks forward. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

 

Spock's father doesn't take Jim's hand, just eyes him accordingly. "You are the one my son is tutoring." It’s not a question and Jim slides his gaze to Spock.

 

"Yes sir," he confirms. "Though I think were friends too, right, Spock?" He tries to smile but it drops when Spock doesn't return it.

 

"Oh, Sarek," Amanda intercepts. "Let him go and have fun, go on." She flutters her hands in the direction of the door. "Enjoy yourselves."

 

When they're outside, Jim visibly relaxes and that infamous Jim Kirk smile is back on his face. "What a dude, huh?" He slings his arms around Spock’s shoulders, a familiar gesture. "Come on the crew's waiting for us."

 

Spock doesn't say anything but he hadn't missed the look on Sarek’s face and something in his chest aches in warning.

 

~X~

 

The “crew” is not in fact waiting for them.

 

In all actuality, Leonard and Pavel aren't even there at all, and Nyota and Scotty are laid across the hood of Scotty’s Impala, laughing about some joke Spock and Jim can’t hear. Sulu is engrossed in the movie himself, eating homemade popcorn with wide eyes and sitting on the grass in front of Scott's car.

 

"Have you seen this flick, Spock?" Jim asks with shining eyes. "God, I love horror movies." He unbuckles his seat belt and scoots closer to Spock, leaving the hood of the car up.

 

Spock's hands shiver at the close proximity of Jim, of the warmth of him radiating down to Spock’s very bones. He's struck with the illogical urge to touch Jim, anywhere and at all, but he folds his trembling fingers together and tries to make it stop. "No, I have not," he answers too late to Jim’s question.

 

"You okay?" Jim asks, and when he reaches over and takes Spock’s hands in between his own, Spock inhales sharply. "Do you want my jacket?"

 

"I am not cold," Spock denies, staring at their hands. Jims are tan and calloused, nicked with scars with dirt under his nails and the silver of pencil graphite on his fingertips, whereas Spock’s are pale and slender, smooth if not a little dry and they look almost ghostly while trapped in Jim’s.

 

"I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier," Jim says suddenly, quickly like he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't, and Spock forces himself to meet those all too blue eyes. "And I - thank you, for caring. And for trying so hard with the tutoring thing even though you don't need to anymore, and I - I want you to know that I'm gonna do real good, Spock, so I can go to Florida, and thank you," He repeats, and then his voice drops into a whisper. "Nobody’s believed in me like you have."

 

Spock doesn't know what happens. He could think play the moment over and over again for the rest of his life and never truly understand it, never really have insight no matter what angle he attempts to examine it from. One minute Jim is looking at him, pupils blown and dark, that infamous blue nothing but a thin ring, and the next he's holding Spock's face in his hands and kissing him.

 

It’s quick and hesitant, like Jim isn’t sure he should have done it at all and when he pulls away and looks at Spock in the eye there’s wariness and fear in them. HIs chest heaves like he can barely breathe and Spock thinks his is doing the same, but he’s too disconnected from his body to know for sure.

 

“Jim,” Spock exhales eventually, voice pulled taught, and Jim tenses, going to draw away but Spock reaches for him and holds onto his shoulders tightly, fingers aching with how strong his hold is.

 

And then Spock’s the one kissing Jim, hard, and sloppy, and he doesn’t care that the windows of the Chevy aren’t tinted, because the only thing in this moment, right here and right now is Jim.

 

Spock thinks Jim is the only thing that’ll ever matter anymore.

 

~X~

 

 


	2. 1976

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing wrong with the way Jim loves Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weewoo. not read over so excuse any errors xoxo

There is nothing wrong with the way Jim loves Spock.

 

There never could be, not when he molds a heart he tries to hide from the world to conform to Spock, not when he breaths in Spock's words like he'd die without them, not when he's gentle and slow and whispers to Spock, _it’s okay, I got you._

 

Spock does not quite fully comprehend the gazes Amanda fixes him, like her heart is breaking, shattered pieces rattling in her chest; the stern glares Sarek glazes him over with, like he cannot stand the sight of his own son, and Spock finds it -

 

Illogical.

 

"Don't worry about them," Jim breathes against his jaw and Spock cradles Jim's knuckles like if he’s good enough he can erase the nicks and scabs. ("Punched one face too many," Jim jokes with hysterical laughter and eyes that plead Spock not to say another word.) "Bullshit, remember?"

 

"Yes," Spock sighs deeply and Jim nudges him.

 

"Stay with me this weekend, get out of the house," he says. "I'll sneak you in past Frank and we'll take those dumb Polaroids Pasha likes so much until we run out of film."

 

What he doesn't say is _I'm scared._

 

Spock leaves a note written and rewritten in a place where Amanda will fine but Sarek will not and Jim takes him to a stretch of country under a full moon and Spock can pretend they're actually getting away.

 

~X~

 

Jim does not like his family. He never says this of course, and the few times he mentions Winona Kirk there's an anguish to him that only comes with those he cares about, but Spock knows and he's fairly certain Jim is aware that he knows. Sometimes when he’s drunk on the fumes of his mother cycle, Jim will grin about a brother named Sam, but those moments are rare.

 

Jim tells Spock Frank drinks and that's all he needs to know.

 

True to his word, they slide past an unconscious Frank with a laughter in Jim's mouth and worry creasing Spock's brow, running up a flight of rickety steps that are deafening in the enormity of the silence that is Jim's home. When they duck into Jim's room - a place Spock has never been - Jim laughs into his knuckles until he's so blue in the face, Spock considers administering first aid.

 

Jim leads Spock to a bed that has cartoon characters Spock cannot name smiling up at them from crisp sheets and has him take his shoes off before removing his own. He curls around Spock like he's trying to shield him from the whole world, buries his hand into Spock's hair and presses a closed mouthed kiss against his forehead.

 

"I passed all my classes," Jim laughs a little breathlessly, his breath warm as it ghosts over Spock's face. Spock feels gangly, pressed inside Jim like this - he's always been taller and it’s a feat to curl his limbs to fit against Jim.

 

"I am aware, Jim," Spock assures, removing his glasses and tucking them under Jim's pillow.

 

Jim closes his eyes and Spock wishes, illogically, that he wouldn't. And then, he says, soft enough to be barely heard over the crickets outside, but intense and severe inside Spock's head, "I got accepted into the Florida Institute of Technology."

 

Spock does not breathe for a very long time.

 

~x~

 

In the morning, Jim harasses Spock into the bathroom and sits him down on the edge of the bathtub before stepping back and giving him a long, thoughtful stare. He grins that grin that never fails to make Spock temporarily compromised and produces a bottle of hair gel from beneath the sink.

 

"You remembered its Bones’ birthday right?" Jim says as he pours the offending product into his hands. "For his present, I promised I'd doll you up."

 

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I fail to understand how altering my appearance to resemble a child's toy would give Leonard satisfaction.”

 

Jim laughs like he always does, and Spock fails to suppress the quirk of his mouth. Without a spare thought, he reaches over and runs his fingers through Spock’s hair, pushing back his bangs and swiping a comb off the counter with his free hand. Spock watches the look of concentration on Jim’s face, and there is a pain in his sternum when he thinks about all the math problems Jim will solve without Spock there to see him do it.

 

“Would you be pissed if I dyed your hair blue,” Jim asks with wide eyes and a smirk and Spock draws away from him.

 

“Please refrain.”

 

Spock thinks that Jim’s face must hurt constantly from all the grinning he does.

 

“So I was thinking,” Jim clears his throat as he tugs on locks of Spock’s hair seemingly at random. “I mean, I got - y’know, early admission and all that,” Jim looks away. “But y’know, I’m not leaving until the fall and I -” he exhales slowly through his nose and when he looks at Spock there is desperation in his eyes. “Come with me.”

 

Spock does not say anything.

 

He does not have to.

 

~X~

 

Leonard is not thrilled about turning twenty-seven.

 

“You’re an old man,” Jim laughs and Leonard rolls his eyes and puts Jim in a headlock, dragging his knuckles across his scalp.

 

“No, stop,” Jim complains, voice high. “I spent an hour on this.”

 

“You’re such a girl,” Leonard scoffs, but he releases Jim and looks at him fondly. “Speaking of, how long did you spend on Spock this morning.” Leonard looks at him and when the fondness doesn’t leave his eyes, Spock’s face turns red.

 

Spock opens his mouth to give an approximation, but before he can, Scotty and Nyota are busting through the front door of Leonard’s apartment. Scotty has a bottle of scotch held high in his hand, and his grin is big enough to make him look a little crazed. “Many Happy Returns!” He boasts loudly and goes to push the scotch into Leonard’s hands, ignoring Jim’s scoff and eye roll. Nyota shakes her head, and sits next to Spock on the couch, throwing an arm around his shoulder in a familiar gesture of friendship. “I told him Kirk wouldn't like it,” she says with an eye roll to rival Jim’s, when he and Scotty start talking over each other and Leonard has to dodge Jim’s attempts to grab the bottle.

 

“Jim believes alcohol is oppressive,” Spock informs her and she laughs.

 

“Sometimes oppression is a good thing.”

 

Spock tries not to think about Jim says the same thing when he smokes enough that he becomes hindered in his movements and lays on his back babbling to the ceiling about a father he never knew.

 

There is the beep of a pager and all at once, the laughter ceases, and the warmth of Nyota’s arm falls away. All Spock knows is Leonard is breathing, “Pasha,” and running out the door, but it’s enough.

 

~X~

 

Pavel is a swollen mess.

 

He lays barely conscious on a hospital bed, with a bruised eye swollen shut and a split lip and he’s trying so very hard to stop Leonard from pressing his face into the itchy hospital blanket and yelling but it’s to little avail.

 

Jim has punched a wall twice and Scotty hasn’t smiled, and Nyota keeps asking Pavel to file a police report but he won’t.

 

He keeps slipping between English and Russian and every time he does, every body tenses and looks towards the door.

 

Spock is angry.

 

He does not recall the last time he was so furious his hands were shaking, his vision tainted red, and his chest tingled with the distance need to follow Jim’s example and strike something. Jim’s touch on his arm is what stops him. A part of him feels immensely guilty: it clogs his throat and makes his head ache from his temples to the back of his neck, and he (illogically) almost _hates_ himself for ever thinking ill of Pasha in the first place, just based on his accent alone.

 

“I should have been there,” Leonard says fifty times, pulls away from the (broken) hand Pavel has resting on top of his head.

 

“No,” Pasha breathes and that’s all he says for a long while.

 

~X~

 

Spock hadn’t seen Jim in three days when he comes bursting into Spock’s room, leather jacket on and fastened, the helmet Spock made him get tucked under his arm. Spock, who had been concentrating very hard on the pamphlet Jim gave him on the Florida Institute of Technology and resolutely ignoring his pager, looks up and frowns.

 

“How did you get in?” he inquires, knowing he is home alone and locked the door.

 

“What? Oh, oh,” Jim runs a hand through his hair and Spock notes he is not wearing any eyeliner. “I – you have a key under your plant – but,” he swallows hard, sits down on Spock’s bed and throws an arm over his face. “Pasha and Bones, they left.”

 

Spock stands immediately, banging his knee against his desk. “Where have they gone?”

 

“Georgia,” Jim grinds out tightly, still covering his eyes. “Bones, God he’s such an idiot, it’ll be worse there, the South always is –“ he finally moves his arms and when he meets Spock’s eyes, his own are red-rimmed and swollen.

 

“Don’t come with me.”

 

Spock stares.

 

“Don’t, Spock, it’ll be awful in Florida, and I’ll have to stay in a fucking dorm and I won’t be able to even _look_ at you, let alone –“ Jim breaks then, cries in a way he hasn't in, well, ever, and Spock just keeps staring.

 

“I am coming with you.”

 

“No,” Jim sits up and this time, his tone is harsh, severe, deadpan. “Just give me three years, Spock, that’s all I’m asking, just three years and then we’ll be okay.”

 

“James.”

 

“ _Please_. I can’t – what happened to Pasha, I can’t let that happen to you, I can’t.”

 

Spock understands then, understands that it wasn't Pavel’s accent or his last name or his Russian heritage; understands that it was a wrong look or one wrong word or a kiss at the wrong time in the wrong place and he _understands._

 

“Jim –“ he begins, but  Jim is already standing and leaving.

 

Spock is empty.

 

 


	3. 1980

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I did not follow you here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact there was actually supposed to be a whole lot more to this fic but beeboop i aint feeling it and kind of gave up. this isnt new stuff i wrote this ages ago and im terribly sorry taht this is all you will ever get. pls dont hate me.

1980

“Happy New Year!” 

 

Spock does not know who it is that is shouting in his ear but he withdraws from them by taking three steps to the left. He ends up stumbling into somebody else, who throws their arms around him and shouts, “Welcome to a new decade!” While crying hysterically.

Spock finds the whole thing illogical and questions himself, not for the first, or even second or third time, why he allowed his colleagues to drag him to a bar on New Year’s Eve. He can’t even find them at all: they have been long lost in the throng of the crowd, and the cheering and confetti raining down only obscures his vision. He considers calling to one of them, most likely Gaila, but thinks better of it and finds the nearest vacant seat to huddle into until the celebration has calmed down.

 

The bartender looks at him curiously and then laughs, taking Spock’s empty beer bottle and replacing it with another. “Me too, pal,” he says before moving on and Spock blinks after him.

 

Gaila appears from seemingly thin air then, throwing an arm around his shoulders and stealing his drink from his grasp. She’s breathing heavy and her face is flushed, but she looks happy and energetic and it reminds him of somebody. “What a party, huh?” she tells him as she gulps down half of the beer in one go. “Here’s to the New Year.”

 

He smiles softly at her but doesn’t reply. Because, in all honesty, he isn’t feeling it. He hasn’t felt any year for nearly four of them, and he doesn’t think he ever will again.

 

Gaila kisses his temple exuberantly and sits down next to him, grin still lighting up her face. “So, what are your plans?”

 

“I have none,” he informs her. 

 

She gapes at him. “Oh, come on, everyone has a plan for New Year, and what about that teaching job you got offered?”

 

In all honesty, Spock had no real intentions of taking that job. In fact, he had no real intentions of doing anything, which he told his mother every time she called. He thought maybe perhaps he would just keep moving, finding different places to go. He never meant to end up in central Florida in the first place, it had been on-a-whim to apply to the University of Central Florida, and though he had been accepted into others, he packed his bags and came here. Maybe a part of is still tied to –

“I am still considering it.”

“Well, you should take it. First year teaching and you’re already offered a job in one of the best high schools in the state, come on now,” Gaila sighs. “We just want what’s best for you, Spock. We want you to move on.”

 

Gaila is one of the few people who  know and he regrets telling her in the first place every minute of every day. 

“I will take your opinion as a reference when I intend to make my final decision.”

Then, he steals his beer back, drinks it, and tries to oppress himself. Because sometimes, oppression is a good thing.

 

~X~

 

His position was, technically, an emergency one. The teacher that preceded the subject before him got pregnant unexpectedly and was to take a necessary maternity leave, and ever since, the position has been filled by substitutes. 

 

Spock only barely had to apply for it at all, and when he called to accept it, the principal was so relieved she sounded as if she were in tears, and thanked him profusely, which he found highly illogical since he was the one who should be thanking her. He gave her a, “You are welcome, ma’am”, as it is. 

 

Transferring in the middle of the year is not good for students nor teachers, and he feels stilted, awkward and rushed on that first day. He falls into the groove easy, because his students, for whatever reason, seem to like him well enough. They behave, and their grades are excellent, save for a select few, and for the first time in a long time, he does not feel as empty as he once was.

 

At least, he didn’t.

 

He didn’t.

~X~

 

Career Day isn’t as illogical as Spock first assumed it would be. In all actuality, it can be quite informational, important; he’s seen the faces of his students light up at the prospect of the careers available to them in central Florida. He thinks this generation will be a decent one.

 

There are parents and speakers that intend to come in and out of his classroom for the majority of the day, and he had barely glanced at the list of names; he had a lot of grading to do, tests to score and assignments to plan, and he decided he would work on those while the speakers give their presentations.

 

He didn’t think about it, really. He didn’t think about the Air Force pilot or the dentist or the Florida Today reporter. He didn’t pay attention until somebody came in carrying moon rocks and poster boards and a real life astronaut helmet; didn’t look up until the man cleared his throat and said, “I work for National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Call me Jim.”

 

All at once, everything tilts.

 

Spock doesn’t realize he’s gripping the sides of his desks hard enough to break off splinters into his fingertips, doesn’t realize he’s staring straight ahead with eyes flown wide until one of his students looks at him and says, “Are you okay, Mr. Grayson?”

When he finally collects enough resolve to turn his head and look to his left, he wishes he had not. 

 

Jim’s as beautiful as he ever was; eyes as alive as they are in Spock’s memory, blue and wide, hair cropped but windswept and something in Spock feels like it should be orange or blue, not golden, hands held out like he means to reach for Spock, touch him, but mouth agape. 

 

There’s a long, agonizing stretch of silence, in which there is no breath but his own, nothing but the colour of Jim’s eyes, and then he is standing and leaving.

 

~X~

 

Jim finds him staring at his own hands in the teacher’s lounge.

 

It is vacant, as he had opened it would, and after falling into the nearest chair and spending minutes inhaling and exhaling as deeply as he can, he does nothing else. Just stares, and wonders, and he should have known, really, should have paid attention to the list more, should have done something. It is not far fetched, in fact the probabilities he could calculate on a spare sheet of paper if he so desired, but he  cannot move.

 

When the chair next to his is dragged across the linoleum, and a hand falls on his own, he has to inhale yet again. The hand is tan and calloused in comparison to the lean paleness of his. He thinks of a car and a drive-in movie theater, and wishes he had not.

 

“Spock,” Jim exhales and Spock closes his eyes. He had forgotten what it sounded like in Jim’s mouth.  “I-“

 

“Do not,” Spock says, the first thing. “There is nothing you could theoretically say that would allow my emotions to stabilize.” 

Jim  laughs and Spock‘s breath quickens. “You still talk like a fucking dictionary.”

 

Spock forces himself to look up then, meet the too-blue of Jim’s eyes that are dark and shadowed. He’s so  different but just the same, without the bruises and the make-up and the odd hair, but his smile and the way he looks when he cries are all too familiar. He looks very much like he did the last day Spock saw him.

 

Jim stares back, reaches over with the hand not on Spock’s and pushes his bangs back from his forehead. “Still have that ridiculous haircut.”

 

Spock withdraws and something in Jim’s face makes him ache.

 

“It has been more than three years, James.”

 

“You haven’t called me James in a while,” Jim laughs again, like the whole thing is funny to him.

 

“I have not called you anything in a while. I have not seen you.”

 

Jim isn’t laughing anymore. “I know, Spock. I did it in three years, too, I did, and they let me into NASA,  recruited me and I should have gone back for you and I didn’t.”

 

“You are stating the obvious,” Spock wants to get up and leave Jim, leave Jim like Jim left him (it’s illogical – he could not stay away for long), but he remains in place. “I did not follow you here.”

 

“I know,” Jim repeats. “I saw your diploma on your classroom wall,” he laughs again, and his fingers tighten around Spock’s. “University of Central Florida, huh?”

 

“The only thing I will ask of you, James,” Spock says, rushed and hurried, before he loses the nerve, before he forgets what it is he wants to say to Jim, four years worth of words flooding his throat, “Is for you to tell me why.” He builds a dam against that flood.

“I just wanted you to be safe, Spock,” Jim hisses, lets go of Spock’s hands like he’s been burned. “Fuck, we still aren’t.”

 

“You cannot expect things to be the same.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

They stare at each other.

 

“There’s never been anyone else, Spock.”

“That is . . . illogical.”

 

“You’re illogical.”

Jim cracks another grin (Spock thinks not for the first time that his face must hurt).


End file.
